


Whumptober 2020: Good Omens

by LadyWallace



Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale whump, Bad Situations, Blackmail, Branding, Cold Crowley, Crowley Whump, Gen, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Kidnapping, One Shot Collection, Sentient Bookshop and Bentley, Torture, crafty aziraphale, whumptober2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26770999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: My Good Omens Whumptober One shots!Up Now: Day 27 (extreme weather, power outage) The Bookshop and the Bentley work together to get their angel and demon through a storm.Whump Contents:1-Aziraphale&Crowley2-Aziraphale& Crowley3-Aziraphale4-Crowley5-Crowley6-Crowley7-Aziraphale8-Aziraphale & Crowley
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947367
Comments: 51
Kudos: 103
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Day Two: In the Hands of the Enemy (Pt. 1/2)

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe it's only the second day of Whumptober! I have already read so much good whump =D This is the start of my Good Omens collection. This year I'm going GO, Supernatural, and JoJo's Bizarre Adventure so check out the other collections as well if you wish.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy the whump!

Crowley gritted his teeth as he was dragged through the dark hallway. He struggled as much as he was physically able to do—which wasn't much when you had two beefy demons each with a vice-like grip on his arms.

A desperate glance to the side, showed him Aziraphale was doing little better.

They had just been unlucky this time. Strange stirrings had been going on in the north, and they'd gone to investigate it, but found more than they'd bargained for.

A whole group of rogue demons had formed a sort of guerilla unit and were terrorizing the surrounding population. That had been pretty much the last thing Crowley and Aziraphale had suspected when they had gone to investigate, and thus had not been ready for the demons to surround them, and proceed to take them captive.

Thus bringing them to their current point where they were being dragged into the demon's lair, presumably to meet with their leader.

"Balthazor, we caught some troublemakers snooping around the area," one of the guards called as they thrust open a door at the end of the hall.

Crowley grunted as he was yanked inside and he was forced to his knees with a heavy shove to his back. Aziraphale bit back a cry as he was forced down likewise, next to Crowley, glancing over at him with a worried look. Crowley's jaw tightened. Aziraphale looked rough, but he probably didn't look much better. They'd both been roughed up a bit in the initial scuffle.

Another inexplicably large demon had stood from some sort of makeshift throne, dressed in 'traditional garb' that looked something like gladiatorial gear. He stepped down and stood, looming menacingly over the two captives.

"An angel and a demon," he said, seeming amused. "Did they show up at the same time, or are they together?"

"Working together, my lord," one of the demon toughs said with a sneer.

Balthazor hummed in sudden interest. "Really? How…interesting. Wait a moment, is that Crawley I see?"

"Crowley," the demon corrected with a sneer.

Balthazor's face worked itself into a leer. "Oh, I see. Well, then it's our lucky day. Because that must mean this angel in Aziraphale. Both of which are wanted fugitives. I'm wondering what Heaven and Hell would be willing to give for their return?"

Crowley gulped. The last thing he wanted was to be sent back to Hell. And he knew it would be little better for Aziraphale. Both places had been willing enough to leave them alone post Armagediddn't but if they were dropped back into the laps of their former employers, then he could only imagine how bad it would be.

"I wouldn't count on it."

Crowley looked around, surprised to see Aziraphale was the one talking.

"They'd never give you anything for us. They'd probably just tell you to do us in and save them the trouble," the angel continued, voice shockingly strong despite the situation. Crowley felt a little courage return to him.

"Is that so?" the demon asked almost mockingly. "Are you saying they'd be more inclined to pay us for your heads then?"

Aziraphale paled. "Oh, er, no! That's not what I meant…"

Balthazor began to laugh and the other demons joined in as Aziraphale and Crowley turned to each other with terrified looks.

The atmosphere changed in an instant as Balthazor stepped forward, all mirth gone from his face as he grabbed a fistful of Aziraphale's hair and wrenched his head back. "I know about you two, and weather Heaven or Hell wants anything to do with you matters little to me. If I can get as much from them for your heads, as anything then I'll do that. However." He glanced over at Crowley too who could feel the other demons looming closer before they gripped his shoulders. "I do know an asset when I see one. And you two seem useful."

"Useful, eh?" Crowley hissed.

Balthazor gave him his disturbing grin again. "Oh yes. Very useful." He released Aziraphale's hair and patted the angel roughly on the cheek before he turned to Crowley. "You've both somehow convinced Heaven and Hell to leave you alone. I want to know how. And if you tell me, I might be willing to offer you a spot in my kingdom."

"Thank you, but we'll politely decline," Aziraphale said firmly. "We came up here to stop you because you're hurting people. We want no part in that sort of thing."

The demon guarding Aziraphale kicked him viciously in the side and the angel cried out and doubled over. Crowley gritted his teeth.

"And what about you, Crawley?" Balthazor asked, purposefully mispronouncing his name. "Do you feel the same as your angelic partner in crime?"

"Yeah, I do," Crowley hissed.

"Well, then," Balthazor said with a sigh and a shrug. "I guess we're back to plan A. If you two won't join me, I'll have no choice but to do away with you. After all, if I simply let you go, you'll surely only cause trouble for me." He looked down at them with a dangerous, yet gleefully sadistic light in his eyes. "But I am fair, so I will offer you a choice." He reached behind him and pulled out a dagger. Crowley's stomach plummeted. He could instantly tell that it was a demonic dagger. The kind that could easily kill both demons and angels.

They were screwed. Royally.

Balthazor raised it to his mouth and licked the blade threateningly. "I'll offer you a choice. You can decide who lives and who dies."

Crowley's eyes popped out and he whipped his head around to Aziraphale, seeing the angel staring back at him with an open mouth.

"Hold on…" Crowley protested, only to have a boot slammed into his jaw. He collapsed on the floor before he was wrenched back upright.

"Who's it going to be?" Balthazor asked, obviously enjoying himself too much. "Do you need time to talk it out? How about it, angel? Surely you probably think you would be a worthy sacrifice…or maybe, you think you should be the one to survive because you're worth more. Why don't you choose?"

"I will not!" Aziraphale cried in horror. "To think…"

"Then, Crawley, surely you won't have any qualms about throwing the halo to the wolves. But then again, I have heard you've gone soft…"

"We're not choosing!" Crowley snapped firmly, his voice hissing in his fury. "Whatever you do to us, it doesn't matter. We won't betray each other."

Balthazor watched them both carefully, before raising his eyebrows with a shrug. "Fine then. I suppose I can respect that. However, you do realize that the only other alternatives are you _both_ dying or agreeing to join me. So that's up to you. I'm willing to give you time to decide." He sheathed the dagger. "You have until morning."

Aziraphale and Crowley were both hauled upright and dragged back down the long dark hallway and thrown into what seemed to be a broom closet of some sort. Very cramped and filled with useless things.

The door was still firmly locked on the other side and the two of them sat in the dark, cramped space. Thankfully, both of them could see all right in the dark.

"Dammit," Crowley muttered to himself, trying to figure out how they always seemed to get into these impossible situations.

"Crowley…" Aziraphale's voice came quietly.

"Shush, angel, I'm trying to think of something to do." Surely there was something in this closet that they could use to get out of here.

"I know what we can do," Aziraphale said, voice void of emotion. "I'll give myself up. And you can leave."

Crowley whipped around in shock. "Are you bloody insane? You think I'm going to agree to that?"

"It doesn't matter!" Aziraphale said firmly. "I couldn't stand it if I had to watch you die. I'd rather die myself!"

Crowley just stared at him before he reached out and grabbed the front of the stupid angel's coat, shaking him slightly. "You think I want to sit here and watch you die? You're insane. No, we're either both dying, or both getting out of here. No other options. Got it?"

"How are we going to do that?"

"We need a plan," Crowley said, looking around. "And I'm sure there is one in here." He looked back to stare the angel in the eyes. "But no sacrifices. Understand?"

The angel just stared at him.

"Aziraphale!"

The angel nodded. "No sacrifices," he whispered quietly.

Crowley felt a little better and turned back to the task at hand. "Good. Now that we're clear on that, help me look for something we can use to get out of here."

_(To Be Continued…)_


	2. "Where do you Think You're Going?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day five: "Where do you think you're doing?"  
> Failed escape, rescue
> 
> This is part 2 of the previous one-shot :)

Crowley was good at pulling things together. He was a very innovative demon, and for that, he was grateful, especially considering their current situation.

But because of his creativity, even under stress, he was able to construct a good distraction mechanism out of the stuff in the broom closet, that would hopefully aid in their escape attempt.

Shockingly, somehow, by some demonic miracle, it worked.

Crowley wasn't entirely sure _how_ it worked, but he wasn't going to overthink it as he and Aziraphale were hurrying as quietly as possible through the dingy demon base.

"You really don't remember how we got in here?" Aziraphale hissed.

"Wasn't really paying attention," Crowley hissed back. "I mean, big bad demons poking you in the back—the décor is not exactly the first thing I think of. You're the one who's good at directions anyway."

Aziraphale huffed but took another glance around. "Frankly, it wasn't my first thought either."

Crowley wanted to shoot him a look, but then he finally saw something familiar and…

"Moonlight!" Aziraphale exclaimed at the same time, heading in the direction Crowley had been looking.

It was a large skylight in the main room of the house, something like a ballroom that was currently not being occupied.

"I think we're going to have to get out this way, angel," Crowley said. "I'm sure all the entrances are guarded."

Aziraphale nodded, but eyed the skylight warily. "Yes, but…how?"

Crowley looked around and spotted a table. He glanced up and went to get it, moving it so that it was underneath the skylight.

"Okay, get on the table, Aziraphale. And I'll get on your shoulders."

"You'll what?" the angel asked, incredulous.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Quick, angel! We don't have a lot of time."

Aziraphale huffed, but finally got onto the table, and Crowley scrambled up next to him.

"Alright, now, just stay steady," Crowley warned him before he shifted into his snake form, wrapped around Aziraphale to get on his shoulders and then shifted back to his normal form.

"Ah!" Aziraphale cried softly at his sudden change of weight and Crowley flailed his arms, trying to stay put.

"Dammit, stay still!" he hissed, and snagged the latch in the skylight as Aziraphale grunted underneath him. "I'm not _that_ heavy."

"My dear, you're not the one on your shoulders," Aziraphale huffed.

Crowley knew his friend had been battered, they both had, and he did feel a little bad about standing on the angel's shoulders when he had to be smarting, but, well, they would be dead if they stayed here, so he decided it was an okay trade-off.

He popped the latch on the skylight and shoved it upward. Amazingly, it stayed open and he breathed a sigh of relief in the cool night air.

"Okay, I'm going up, then I'll help you up," Crowley said.

Before Aziraphale could reply, a sound could be heard further down the hallway.

"They have to be somewhere!" a voice snarled.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale hissed.

Crowley grabbed the lip of the opening and pulled himself up easily enough, despite how hard his heart was pounding at the moment. He then flattened himself on the roof and reached down his hand to Aziraphale.

"Hurry, angel, they'll be here soo—"

"Where do you think you're going?"

Balthazor appeared in the room almost out of the shadows, and Crowley's heart was in his throat, seeing his own terror reflected in Aziraphale's eyes below.

"Aziraphale!" he cried. "Jump!"

The angel leapt, his fingers grazing Crowley's, but he fell back to the table before the demon could get a firm hold of him.

"Angel!" Crowley shouted as Aziraphale jumped again, this time, finally grabbing his hand.

"Crowley!" he grunted, trying to reach up with his other hand. Crowley reached out, ready to snag the angel and haul him upward.

But Balthazor's demons got to him first. They grabbed Aziraphale's legs and waist and yanked hard.

Crowley cried out as he frantically scrambled to hold onto his friend at the same time trying to avoid falling back into the room.

Aziraphale cried out as the demon's claws dug into his flesh and tore his clothes.

"Angel, your other hand," Crowley grunted.

Aziraphale tried, but something in his face said how futile the action was as the demons continued to pile up, hauling on him.

"Crowley…" Aziraphale said quietly.

Fear struck through the demon's chest. "Aziraphale, don't…don't you dare."

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale whispered before he let go.

"No!" Crowley screamed as he watched his friend fall to the mercy of the demons below.

"Go!" Aziraphale shouted.

Crowley was one second away from diving back in, but part of him, the rational part of him, knew that they would both have a better chance if he got away now.

So, despite everything in him screaming at him to do otherwise, Crowley ran.

XXX

Aziraphale was thrown to the ground as Balthazor stalked around him. He curled up, his body aching from the treatment he'd gotten from the other demons.

"You've really made me mad now," the demon leader growled as he buried his foot into Aziraphale's side.

The angel let out an _oomph_ of breath, doubling over. Another demon came forward and grabbed him by his curls, yanking his head back. Blood was dripping down Aziraphale's lip from his nose. Balthazor snarled and leaned over, gripping his chin, digging his fingers into Aziraphale's cheeks.

"You think just because your friend is gone, you'll get out of dying? No, I'm going to carve you into little meat chunks and send you back to Heaven as a warning. And if Crowley has a problem with that and decides not to be a coward and come get revenge for his precious angel, then I'll do the same to him."

Aziraphale glowered up at him, lifting his chin defiantly. "Then do it!" he snapped.

Balthazor backhanded him across the face and the angel collapsed to the ground. "Oh, I will. But first, I…"

He trailed off. A muffled scream was heard deeper in the house. The guards looked at each other, and Balthazor growled, snapping at them.

"Well, don't just stand there! Go see what's going on!"

Aziraphale pushed himself up onto his elbows as the demons rushed out of the room, more screams echoing through the halls.

"You had probably best run," Aziraphale told the demon leader, sitting up and reaching into his coat for his handkerchief. It was a little wrinkled and dirty, but still serviceable. He wiped the blood from his nose with it.

Balthazor spun around, snarling at him. "Shut up!"

"My lord!" A demon burst into the room. "We're under attack!"

"Who? How many?" Balthazor demanded.

"It's—gah!"

A burning blade appeared through the demon's chest and he tumbled to the ground.

Crowley stood in his place, slinging blood from the blade.

"Aziraphale? You okay?" he asked.

"For now," Aziraphale replied, pushing himself to his feet.

"You…" Balthazor sneered, stepping forward and reaching for his dagger, when he found his hand empty. He craned his neck around, feeling around his person, but his dagger wasn't anywhere.

"Looking for this?"

Aziraphale slammed the blade into the middle of his back. Balthazor screamed and collapsed to his knees.

"I took the liberty of lifting it from you when you were in my face," the angel said. "You should have tied my hands."

Crowley strode over with a grin. "Nice one, angel."

"No, please!" Balthazor gurgled, looking up at them.

"I wonder what the bounty on _your_ head is? Might be a pretty penny," Crowley mused as he raised the flaming sword and swung.

Balthazor's scream was cut off. Aziraphale turned to the side in disgust as the demon's head was severed from his shoulders and rolled across the floor.

Crowley sighed, rubbing a hand across his face and cringing as it came away bloody. "Well, that was a lot more messy than I would have liked. You okay, angel?"

"Nothing too terrible," Aziraphale assured him. "I see you found my sword."

"Yeah." Crowley looked at the blade before sheathing it. "It's not too bad, actually."

Aziraphale smiled. "Thank you for coming back for me, my dear."

Crowley shrugged. "What did you think I was going to do?"

Aziraphale smiled wider. Of course he knew Crowley would always come for him.

"Let's get out of here," he sighed.

"Agreed," Crowley said and the two walked out of the demon hideout.

Another job well done.


	3. Day Eight: Where Did Everybody Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Eight: (don't say goodbye, abandoned) Caught in an accident, Aziraphale wakes up alone, even though he was sure Crowley had been there before.

Aziraphale woke slowly, breath catching in his throat. Pain instantly ripped through him. What was…where…?

He pried his eyes open and saw darkness. Well, maybe not complete darkness, but wherever he was was very dimly lit. The surface he laid on was hard and sharp—maybe inside a cave? His hand scrambled around on the ground, trying to find any clue, trying to push himself into a sitting position.

But he couldn't.

Aziraphale cried out in pain, even from that small movement. He felt around, and sharpened his vision and realized he was stuck under a pile of rocks, trapping him up to mid-waist, crushing his legs and ribs. Every breath Aziraphale took, shallow or not felt like knives slicing through his chest. He didn't know how much was broken, but he couldn't seem to feel his legs at all.

"H-hello?" he croaked out, looking around. Was he alone? No, that didn't seem right, he could have sworn Crowley was here with him. He just couldn't remember exactly…

Then where was Crowley now?

"Cr-Crow…ley…" he murmured, again looking around. He tried to call the demon's name again, louder, but it agitated his broken ribs and he instead just ended up coughing painfully. Something wet spattered on his lips, likely blood.

He began to panic. Where was Crowley? Surely the demon was somewhere nearby. Surely…

Surely he wouldn't have just… _abandoned_ Aziraphale here. Right?

But then…Crowley was a demon, and though they'd been going along with their Arrangement for a while now, well, Crowley truly owed him no loyalty.

Still, Aziraphale thought they had been friends. Maybe he was wrong, but demons could change their minds.

And he did have this picture in his mind of Crowley walking out of the cave into the dying light. Maybe he'd decided to leave when he realized there was no way he could get Aziraphale free. Maybe he thought it wasn't worth his time.

It looked like he had left Aziraphale alone after all.

The angel didn't want to admit to himself just how much that thought hurt him. But really, what was he supposed to expect? This was probably just a lesson in why you didn't make friends with demons.

But he was stuck, and in a lot of pain, with no way to save himself, and no memories of what had led up to him getting into this situation. He didn't know what to do, and he was—well, he was scared.

Aziraphale bit his lip and felt a tear wash down his cheek. He really was truly alone.

XXX

Crowley ran as quickly as he could back to the village. This was the only time in history that he wished he had a horse. He might not care for the beasts much, but he would gladly ride one to save his fri—the angel.

Oh, who was he kidding, Crowley growled to himself. He and Aziraphale had been working together long enough that he had to admit they had formed _some_ sort of friendship.

And he had been terrified after the rockslide in the mine when the dust had settled and he had just seen Aziraphale lying there, half buried under hundreds of pounds of rocks, unconscious.

He'd tried to move as many as he could, but it had been too much work for him, even with his demonic strength. He was torn with the idea of leaving Aziraphale, but at the same time, he needed help to make it easier on his friend in the long run, and even if Crowley had been able to move all the rocks, there was no way he could carry the injured angel all the way back to the village without help.

By then, Aziraphale had been semi-conscious, but confused. Maybe he'd hit his head, Crowley didn't know, but he'd been scared and it broke the demon's heart to see Aziraphale's pleading expression when he said he had to leave.

"Goodbye, angel," Crowley told him, clutching his hand, trying to get him to understand. "I won't be gone long…"

"Don't…say…goodbye," Aziraphale croaked.

Crowley's heart tore in two. "I'll be back! I promise. I'm just going to get help."

Aziraphale shook his head and tried to grab Crowley's sleeve as he began to leave. Crowley carefully extricated himself, biting his lip as he heard Aziraphale's whimper, and literally forced himself to turn around and walk out of the cave, wishing the angel was at least in a state to understand.

He started running, and didn't stop until he got to the village.

"Mr. Crowley!" one of the shopkeepers cried as he ran past the man's shop while he was sweeping the stoop. "Whatever is the matter?"

Crowley gratefully skidded to a halt and, panting, pointed up to the mines outside the village. "Mr. Fell and I were down in the mines, and he got trapped in a rockfall. Please, I need help to get him out."

The man instantly got to work, and within only moments, a rescue party was formed, one man even bringing a cart to help carry Aziraphale on when they got him out.

If they got him out.

Crowley shook his head. Of course they would. And Aziraphale was an angel. He would be fine.

Though he wasn't entirely sure when he got back to the collapsed part of the mine and saw the pale figure lying there.

"Lanterns!" he called to the other men who carefully piled into the area.

Once Aziraphale was illuminated, Crowley saw him twitch, and the glint of a tear sliding down his cheek.

"Angel," he whispered as he knelt down next to his friend. "Aziraphale!"

Aziraphale blinked, and seemed to finally see Crowley. His lips parted slightly as if in shock. "Cr-Crowley."

"Shh, don't talk. I brought help to get you out." He motioned the other men forward who started to haul the rocks from the pile. They shifted and Aziraphale groaned, but Crowley grabbed his hand and held on tightly, trying to keep him calm. "It's okay. We'll have you out of there in no time."

It wasn't exactly no time but then men got Aziraphale out of there as swiftly as they could and then carried him carefully out to the waiting cart.

Crowley wasn't sure how they would explain Aziraphale's healing ability, but he didn't even care at the moment. He just hoped the angel still _was_ able to heal himself because, frankly, he looked awful, and he was sure that if Aziraphale had been human he would be dead by now.

But they got him back to the village and instilled him into his bed at the local inn. Crowley allowed the village doctor to tend to his injuries who was surprised when he saw they weren't as bad as they'd thought—a relief to Crowley, as he had hoped Aziraphale would start healing on the way back.

But now that they were alone, Crowley sat by the angel's bedside, remembering the shocked expression on his face when he'd returned to the mine. Had Aziraphale really thought he had abandoned him?

A small moan came from the bed, and Aziraphale shifted slightly. Crowley reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Angel?"

The angel's eyes shot open, blinking in surprise. "Crowley?" he asked hesitantly, looking around. "Where…?"

"We're back in the village. Do you remember what happened?"

Aziraphale was silent for a moment but shook his head slightly. "I just…remember going to the mine, and then…waking up alone." He glanced down toward the hand Crowley had on his shoulder. "I thought…I thought you had left me there," he finished quietly.

Crowley felt a pang of pain and also anger. Whoever had made the angel think that he could be so easily abandoned…Crowley shook it off though and simply gripped his shoulder more firmly.

"Aziraphale, I'll never abandon you like that. I promise."

The angel looked up at him with slightly widened eyes. "Really?"

The demon gave a sharp nod. "'Course not. I guess…" He reached up to rub a hand through his hair. "I guess I have kind of grown to consider us friends. And I don't know a lot about that, true, but I do know friends don't just abandon each other."

The angel's eyes filled with tears but a watery smile broke out across his face. "Friends? You think of us that way?"

Crowley ducked his head, embarrassed. "Well, yeah…I mean, only if you want to…"

"I think of you as my friend too," Aziraphale said.

Crowley gave a brief sigh of relief and returned his smile. "Well, good, because otherwise, I would look really stupid right about now."

Aziraphale gave him a fond smile then said, "Crowley…thank you."

"Don't mention it, angel," Crowley said. "After all, isn't that what friends are for? Now you should rest, and…er…maybe take a few extra days off so no one in the village sees how quickly you're healing?"

"I think I could manage that," Aziraphale said with a grateful sigh as he closed his eyes tiredly.

Crowley adjusted the blankets over him and breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that he had a real friend, that he knew he could count on in return.

Sometimes, it was the simple things that mattered most.


	4. Day Fourteen: Is Something Burning?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 (branding, fire) Crowley suffers Hell's punishment. Aziraphale takes care of his friend.

It was a common misconception that fire didn't hurt demons.

Crowley wished that it was not, in fact, a misconception, especially now that he was facing down Hastur with a burning brand, held between two thick chains somewhere deep down in Hell.

It was even worse, this punishment, because Crowley still contested the fact that it had at all been his fault, what they were blaming him for. After all, how was he supposed to know the target he was supposed to be leading down the path to destruction would _choose to do the right thing?_ Humans were just like that sometimes. You never could tell what they were going to do.

Demons, for the most part, didn't really seem to understand this.

Obviously.

"Come on, Hastur," Crowley pleaded, trying to keep his voice from showing just how nervous he really was. "You know I've learned my lesson. Is this really necessary?"

The demon smirked and it was not a pleasant sight. Crowley's heart sank.

"That's what you say, but I know that if I don't do something you'll be back at your little tricks again within a fortnight."

"No tricks!" Crowley protested, feeling the heat of the brand that was hovering ever closer to his face. "It was a one-time thing! I'll work harder at the tempting next time. I promise!"

"You've already had too many strikes for us to show leniency," Hastur told him firmly, but not without a certain amount of glee in his voice. "And really, I need to get my enjoyment somewhere."

"Of course you do," Crowley sighed wearily, resigning himself.

Sometimes, he really hated his job.

Another demon came over and grabbed Crowley by the hair, wrenching his head to one side to expose his neck.

Hastur grinned wickedly as he brought the brand of holy fire up to Crowley's face first, making sure he could see the red iron and feel the heat, then he slowly pressed it against the skin of his neck.

Crowley howled despite himself, and barely realized when Hastur had pulled it away. He slumped in his chains before he was released. Hastur patted his neck over the spot, causing Crowley to yelp again.

"Good boy. That will be a reminder for the next week, to do a better job next time."

Crowley pulled himself to his feet, biting his tongue against the pain and shuffled out.

He really, really hated Hell sometimes.

XXX

Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley while they stood in St. James, feeding the ducks. The demon looked a lot more miserable than usual. And the angel found it odd that he was wearing a turtleneck sweater _and_ a scarf despite it being a rather mild day. Of course, Crowley was wont to get cold, but it was still unusual.

He was also rather dour, slinking along and not adding much to the conversation.

"Perhaps we should go back to my shop for something to drink," Aziraphale finally said, after realizing Crowley wasn't even listening to what he was saying for the last several minutes.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure."

"My dear, is something wrong?" Aziraphale asked as they started back to the Bentley.

"No," Crowley said a little too quickly.

Aziraphale pursed his lips together, but decided to drop it for now. He would find out eventually though, because this was not like Crowley at all and he was beginning to become worried.

By the time they got back to the shop, Aziraphale went to make tea, and when he came back to the back room with it, he found Crowley still in his coat and scarf.

"Crowley, you can relax, dear boy. If it's that cold in here, I'll turn the heater on."

Crowley looked a little sheepish, but at least unwound his scarf, though he left it draped around his shoulders.

Aziraphale set his cup down on the coffee table and sighed. He reached out to whisk Crowley's scarf off, as the demon made a noise of protest.

"Oi!"

But he cringed, flinching away, a hand fluttering to his neck, looking to be more in pain than annoyed.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale inquired, frowning now. "Whatever is the matter?"

"S'nothing," Crowley mumbled, reaching for the tea, but Aziraphale saw something peeking from under his collar as he leaned forward.

"Then what is this?" the angel demanded, reaching out to tug the collar down.

Crowley tried to shy away, but Aziraphale had already seen it.

It was obviously a burn, bright red against Crowley's pale skin, but what was more horrifying was that it seemed to be a brand, bearing the resemblance of a pitchfork—rather cliché, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"Oh, Crowley!" Aziraphale gasped. "Whatever happened?"

"It's not your problem, angel," Crowley said wearily, leaning away and wincing as his collar scraped against the burn again.

"But it's obviously bothering you, and it looks like it hurts quite a bit. At least let me put something on it."

Crowley opened his mouth to protest but Aziraphale was already up, running to fetch a first-aid kit.

Ignoring Crowley's protests, he rolled his collar down and started to carefully clean the burn.

Crowley was silent through the whole thing, seeming almost embarrassed, or even mortified. Aziraphale took a deep breath before he spoke. "I know that this is some form of punishment," he said. "You don't have to tell me, but I am sorry."

"Ngk," Crowley muttered noncommittally.

"Truth be told, I didn't really know that fire could hurt demons," Aziraphale commented.

Crowley sighed. "It doesn't unless we want it to," he said. "We're immune to Hellfire unless it's part of a punishment. Then there's a special kind that can be used particularly to…teach a lesson."

Aziraphale pressed his lips together, angry despite himself. He knew a good bit about punishments himself. After all, Gabriel wasn't entirely the most forgiving angel to work under, but this seemed cruel.

"It will heal, right?" he asked, worried Crowley would bear the mark forever.

"Yes, it will be gone within a week," Crowley said. "But it won't heal at all before then."

"How horrid," Aziraphale said, even more angry.

"It is a punishment angel," he said, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. "It's not supposed to be nice."

"I know, but…still," Aziraphale said and huffed, pulling out a tube of burn cream and applying some to a swatch of gauze. "It's cruel."

"It's Hell."

And that was fair, he supposed.

Finally, Crowley bit his lip. "It wasn't even my fault. The guy, my target, he just decided to do the right thing. I had no control over it but my mission failed anyway."

"Oh, Crowley, I'm sorry."

"Honestly? I'm not. Not really. The guy wasn't cut out for it. And he did a good thing. I can't really hate him for it."

Aziraphale finished with the gauze and rolled Crowley's collar back over the spot carefully. "Well, perhaps some good came out of this then, despite everything."

"Yes, perhaps you're right." Crowley sighed and shifted. "Thanks, angel."

"Of course, dear," Aziraphale said. "Any time."

Though he really wished neither of them had to worry about punishment, he supposed that as long as they both continued to look after each other, they would be okay.


	5. Chapter Seventeen: I Did Not See That Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 17: (blackmail, falsely accused) Another demon tries to blackmail Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't know what to do with this one, so, shockingly, there's really no whump here. Also I don't know what Aziraphale's random scrying power is in this.
> 
> And I used the name Abaddon for the demon because I'm lazy :P

Demons liked to cause trouble. Even Crowley had to admit that he enjoyed his job on occasion, just causing random chaos and watching the fallout. As long as no one really got hurt in the process, the annoyance was amusing and fed him for days.

But some demons had a mean streak, Abaddon was one of them.

She found Crowley as he was walking home to his flat, standing there leaning against his car. Crowley stopped as she smirked at him, and he hissed at her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

Abaddon slowly scraped one long nail over the paintjob on the Bentley, setting Crowley's teeth on edge. "Oh, I came to have a little discussion with you, Crawley."

"It's Crowley!" Crowley snapped. "Can't any of you learn that?"

"My apologies," she said with a shrug.

"And what kind of discussion?" Crowley demanded, folding his arms over his chest.

She pushed away from the car, coming toward him, smelling of sulfur and brimstone. "Oh, just a little matter that's come to my attention. Concerning you…and the angel you keep company with."

Crowley's blood filled with ice, but he was quick to hide it. "What the hell are you talking about? I don't keep company with _angels_."

She smirked. "Oh yeah? Then why did I see you with that fat bumbling one down at the park, feeding ducks of all things, just yesterday?"

Crowley swallowed and again tried to school his expression to keep from looking guilty. He drew himself up. "You just don't understand how I operate. I keep many…informants on retainer. It's not a bad idea to know what Heaven is up to."

"Sure," she said dismissively. "Or, you have a big secret that you're trying to get away with."

"I don't," Crowley growled.

"You seem a little defensive. And look, it's none of my business, but…" she came closer and lowered her voice. "I'm in a little trouble. I made a mistake, and I cannot afford another strike. You're Hell's golden boy, they'll let you off easy."

"What are you talking about?" Crowley demanded.

She pulled several pictures out of her coat pocket, showing them to Crowley. He couldn't help the small exhale as he saw they were pictures of him and Aziraphale at the park the day before.

"How did you…?"

"Ah, so, worried after all?" she laughed. "Good. Because I'm going to take these to Lord Beelzebub if you try anything."

"Try anything when?" Crowley demanded, getting more furious.

"When they come for you," she said, tucking the photos away and putting her hands in her pockets. "If you take the fall for me, I won't spill your little secret."

"You…!" Crowley croaked in shock but she was already disappearing into the ground.

He glanced around, and then hurried into the building up to his flat.

This was not good. Not good at all.

Crowley dashed for his phone and hurriedly dialed Aziraphale.

"Hello?"

"Angel, it's me. Look, you need to lie low for a few days."

"What…Crowley? What are you talking about, 'lie low'?"

"Don't ask, just do it, okay?" Crowley snapped. "Maybe leave the country for a while."

"My dear, whatever has happened? Are you all right?"

"I don't have time to talk, but I'm going to try to figure this out. Just do not call me or try to contact me until I get back into contact with you, understand?"

"Y-Yes, but…"

"Good," Crowley hung up the phone, feeling a little bad, but he hoped Aziraphale wouldn't try to come over.

He had to figure out what to do.

Unfortunately, it didn't look like he would get the chance.

" _Crowley."_

His television had come on without him noticing, and Crowley gulped. "Y-Yes?" he called quietly.

" _Report back to Hell, Crowley."_

"Sure thing," the demon replied and cursed under his breath.

This was not going well.

XXX

Aziraphale was completely confused and very concerned by Crowley's phone call. What on earth had gotten him so worried all of a sudden? Of course Crowley was always a little paranoid, but not like this, and he had been perfectly fine when they had gone to the park. What could have changed since then?

Had someone…seen them?

That thought did worry him a lot as well, but if that was the case, wouldn't Crowley also be fleeing the country? Or the planet?

Perhaps he would do best to heed the demon's advice, but…he really just needed to know if Crowley was okay.

He couldn't go to his flat though, he might be walking into a trap or something that would make everything worse for Crowley. But maybe there was another way.

Aziraphale didn't use this ability often, but he could watch events in a mirror, quite like the fairy tales said.

He pulled out a small hand mirror and said, "Show me Crowley, this morning."

The glass fogged over before it showed Crowley walking down the street, presumably performing wiles. He sped up the replay until Crowley got to his building, and Aziraphale saw another demon standing beside the Bentley.

Aziraphale quickly made it so he could hear their conversation and his eyes widened.

What cheek! That demon was trying to blackmail Crowley! With pictures of _him!_

Crowley, frustrated, hurried up to his flat and here Aziraphale watched Crowley's call to him before the demon started pacing, right before a voice called to him.

Aziraphale frowned and followed Crowley again where he went to the entrance of Heaven and Hell at the escalators.

Aziraphale felt anxious for his friend. He was probably going to get in trouble now, and if he didn't accept the punishment… that demon was going to show them the pictures and then _both_ of them would be killed. Permanently.

"Okay, what to do," Aziraphale murmured as he paced. If he could somehow, get information…

"Ah!" he said and turned back to the mirror and asked it to show him the demon Abaddon. He 'rewound' until he saw the job she had supposedly botched.

Aziraphale hurriedly worked up some pictures and gave a small smile, a rather excited shiver going down his spine. Typically, he didn't allow himself to feel this much joy in causing chaos—is that what Crowley felt all the time?—but no, this wasn't chaos, this was justice, wasn't it? Crowley would be wrongfully accused if he didn't bring the truth to light, and he just couldn't stand the thought of that happening to his friend. After all, if the demon tried this once, then there was a rather high possibility that she would just hand over the pictures anyway.

Now to get them into Hell…

"Only one thing for it," Aziraphale sighed and left the shop, heading to the same spot Crowley had.

He made as if he were heading toward the escalator to Heaven when he "accidently" dropped some pictures into the entrance to Hell.

"Hopefully, someone will see that," he muttered as he retreated as casually as possible.

Now all he could do was wait and hope justice would come to Crowley.

XXX

Crowley tried to stay as impassive as possible facing Beelzebub, but he was fuming. How dare Abaddon put him in this situation?!

"So, you're saying that you and Abaddon traded jobs and then you botched it?" Beelzebub asked Crowley.

He bit his lip, but Abaddon was standing off to one side of the room, arms crossed and she tapped her hand to the pocket of her coat warningly. Crowley gritted his teeth. "I—It's not exactly what it looks like…"

Abaddon narrowed her eyes and Crowley snarled at her.

Beelzebub sighed, buzzing slightly. "Well, you know we have to punish you then, don't you, Crowley? After all, we can't just have you get away. As much as we usually appreciate your business…"

"Oh, yes, we can't let him get away with it," Hastur grinned from Beelzebub's side, practically salivating.

"No one asked you," Crowley snipped at him.

"Well, what shall it be then?" One of the other demons asked.

"Well, it's a rather grievous offense. So perhaps a lashing will suffice and three weeks cleaning the pits," Beelzebub said.

Crowley opened his mouth to protest, but another demon hurried into the room.

"Um, Lord Beelzebub, I hate to interrupt, but these randomly showed up at the entrance and I don't know what they are, but they are pictures of Miss Abaddon…"

"Let me see those," Beelzebub said and snatched them away, looking through them, eyes widening.

"Wot is it, my lord?" Hastur asked and glanced at the pictures, his eyes widening as well.

"What are you looking at?" Abaddon demanded, stepping forward as Beelzebub's eyes found her, pinning her in place.

"These are you on your mission, messing it up. I don't actually see Crowley anywhere in here."

Crowley's eyes widened now, how the…

"Wait, are you saying Crowley's not involved?" Hastur demanded, sounding disappointed.

"That's what I was trying to say," Crowley cut in, leaning over to look at the pictures himself. He had no idea how they had ended up here, but… well, it seemed like a miracle to him.

Hmm…miracle…

"She doesn't like me so she tried to get me to take the fall for her mistake," Crowley added.

"That's not true! Where the hell did you get those?" Abaddon demanded, furious.

"Judging by your anger, I assume these are real," Beelzebub said, nonplussed. "And it would be highly unlikely for Crowley to botch a simple job like that."

Hastur growled. "Suppose you're right."

"That being said, the punishment will be passed to Abaddon," Beelzebub decided.

"What?" she screeched.

Crowley smirked at her and passed her on his way out, patting her shoulder. "Enjoy the pits." He snapped his fingers and the photos in her pocket turned to dust. She gaped at him and Crowley got out of the conference room.

He breathed, finally.

That one had been too close.

He ended up at the bookshop, to let the angel know that the coast was clear again.

Aziraphale was making tea and he happily invited the demon in.

"Ah, Crowley, did your trouble fix itself?"

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Shouldn't you be be off to France or something right now?"

"Oh, pish posh, I wasn't going to leave until I knew what was going on."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Blackmail, angel?"

Aziraphale drew himself up indignantly. "Justice."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Same difference. But, thanks anyhow."

Aziraphale smiled and placed a cup in front of him. "Anytime, dear."


	6. Dat Twenty-One: I Don't Feel So Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 21: (hypothermia) Crowley gets lost in the snow and nearly freezes. But he has an angel watching over him.

Crowley really didn't know why Napoleon had gotten it into his head that he had to invade Russia. By all accounts it made no sense, especially now that they were all dying a death of cold and dysentery in the middle of Russian winter, and Crowley couldn't even get out of the situation if he wanted to.

It was missions like this that he really couldn't understand. What was he even meant to _do_ here?

He had lost the troop. He wanted to get out of here, back to Hell—not something he said a lot, but hey, at least it was warm. There was an absolutely horrific snowstorm going on right now, so it was actually possible that he _hadn't_ , in fact, lost the troop but that they had all lost each other.

Crowley tried to create any warmth he could in his wool hussar's uniform, but there was no use. No matter how hot the thing was on a summer afternoon in Spain, even with an overcoat, it did literally nothing in the Russian snowstorm.

"How could Boney think this was a good idea?" Crowley muttered to himself through chattering teeth.

He needed to find a place to hole up, at least until the storm passed. Maybe until winter passed if he found a good enough spot.

He searched and searched until he finally found a rock formation. The problem was, it was too small for him to fit into.

Well, in his current form anyway. In his snake form…

Crowley shifted, not even thinking about it, and slithered in, hissing as the snow touched his long belly. He curled up inside the small spot, and it was warmer only because of the fact the wind was not blowing on him. Other than that, it was still _blessedly_ cold.

"Next time they want me to go out in the winter they can ask sssomeone elsssse," Crowley hissed. "No, thank you."

He shivered, perhaps even more now, and suddenly remembered that serpents, even demonic ones, needed warmth to survive. He might have even less luck out here now than he'd had in his human form.

Was it possible to discorperate from the cold?

Crowley didn't want to find out.

But as the storm raged on, and the temperature only seemed to drop, he was afraid that he might not have a choice.

XXX

Aziraphale wasn't even sure how he stumbled across Crowley, but he just happened to feel a demonic presence, and a familiar one at that, and felt terrible that anyone else might be out in this.

"Crowley?" he called, voice mostly whipped away with the wind. The storm was dying down, but it was still snowing pretty heavily.

The feeling became more intense and he nearly tripped over some rocks buried in the snow. Could Crowley be hiding in there?

Aziraphale crouched and pushed some snow out of the way, finding a small opening.

He gasped. Inside, he found Crowley in his snake form, cursed up, whole long body shuddering.

"Crowley!" he cried, reaching in and pulling him out, instantly tucking him into his coat.

A soft hiss sounded. "Angel?" the shuddering hiss said.

"Yes, that's right," Aziraphale said. "Now just you wait, dear, you're so cold. I'll get you to shelter."

There was an abandoned farm a little bit away and Aziraphale returned to it, setting up in the barn where he started a small fire, and heated water, bundling Crowley into some hay.

Once the water was not too hot and not too cold, Aziraphale pulled the pan off the fire and set it down, gathering Crowley again.

"Now, dear, stay in that form for now, because this will probably not feel very good at first."

He settled the snake into the pan of warm water and Crowley hissed at the initial contact before he settled down, whole long body shivering and shaking, splashing some of the water out.

When the water started to cool, Aziraphale took him out and settled him back into the hay to dry.

"Are you any better now, dear?" he asked.

"A bit," Crowley hissed, curling up in the hay into a little scaly lump, body still shuddering.

Aziraphale gave a small sigh and sat down in the hay himself, pulling a blanket out of his backpack. "Come here then, you can rest in my coat until you're completely warm again."

Crowley didn't even protest as Aziraphale opened his overcoat and tucked Crowley inside. The demon settled down with a soft hiss and closed his eyes, falling asleep.

Aziraphale pulled the blanket over both of them and settled back as well, listening to the storm outside.

When he finally felt Crowley stir again, he pulled the blanket aside and peeked into his coat, seeing two yellow eyes staring back.

"Hello, dear. Feeling better?"

In answer, Crowley slithered out of his coat and morphed back into his human form, sitting beside him, arms wrapped around his chest.

"Yeah. A little. Thanksss," he said, still hissing a bit.

"I'm just glad I found you," Aziraphale said.

Crowley gulped, looking away. "You saved me. I think I would have discorporated if you hadn't. Cold and demons, especially serpents, doesn't really mix."

Aziraphale gave him a soft look, but truly, he was very glad that he had been able to find his friend when he did. "Well, it was really awful of them to send you out here."

"What? Napoleon or hell?" Crowley snorted.

"Both," Aziraphale said. "It will be Bonaparte's downfall, surely.

"Don't really care," Crowley muttered, huddling into himself again. "I just want to get out of here. I hate all these wars. Don't see why both our sides always have to be involved."

"Me either, if I'm being honest," Aziraphale said with a sigh. He took his blanket and spread it over Crowley as well until they were both huddled, shoulder to shoulder, cushioned by the straw at their backs. "But this stretch is particularly rough."

Crowley leaned closer to him until his head was resting on Aziraphale's shoulder. "Yeah. So who's side do you think will win?"

"Oh, ours of course," Aziraphale said blithely.

Crowley snorted. "Of course." Then frowned. "Which one is that then?"

Aziraphale opened his mouth, then shrugged. "Well, Napoleon is trying to take over the world…"

"Oh, right, right," Crowley murmured, hunkering down further.

Aziraphale smiled slightly and huddled closer to the demon. Now that he wasn't half frozen he was actually quite warm, and it felt rather like being back in his home in London, with a warm blanket and hot cup of tea and a fire in the grate. For now, the war didn't really matter to Aziraphale at all, he was just glad to have a friend, and someone to wait out the storm with.

Crowley, even though he was already fast asleep again, was inclined to agree.


	7. Twenty-Five: Think I'll Just Collapse Right Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 25 (disorientation, ringing ears) Aziraphale is caught in the heat of battle at Waterloo, but luckily a certain demon is there to come to his rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is sort of a companion to the last one since it's also set during the Napoleonic war :) (Also, sort of Sharpe references because I do love that series.)

Waterloo. A place seemingly of no consequence and yet, here they had ended up at the end of this whole bloody war.

Aziraphale fought the urge to flinch as another canon ball slammed into the ground all too close to him. He dusted the spray of dirt off of his uniform and out of his hair. He'd already lost his shako a long time ago—quite unfitting for an officer.

"Major Fell!"

The angel looked over to see the captain of the 95th Rifles and several of his men rushing over.

"Yes, what is it?" Aziraphale asked.

"Some of Boney's men are trying to flank us. Permission to reroute them, sir?"

Aziraphale nodded sharply. "Yes, let's go."

He set off with the sharp-shooters and soon saw the small troop of Bonaparte's men who were trying to cross the field, looking like they were going to take out some of Wellington's cannons.

The Rifles sank into some shrubbery, their green coats concealing them far better than Aziraphale's red, but there was little to be done about that now.

"Very good, captain, I leave judgment in your own hands," he said.

The captain nodded and raised his rifle.

Several of Bonaparte's men went down with the first volley, but one pulled something from a bag on his belt and Aziraphale saw what it was too late to do more than perform a miracle of protection around his men.

"Down!" he shouted as a bomb flew their way.

The concussive sound exploded around them and Aziraphale was flung back, shocked, slamming into the ground, ears ringing.

"Major!"

The voice was faint, but the Rifles captain was crouching over him, worried as he checked him over for wounds.

"I'm fine," Aziraphale forced himself to say, pushing himself up. "Go!"

The captain gave him a look, but obeyed, and Aziraphale attempted to push himself to his feet.

Another bomb went off a few feet from him and he slammed face-first into the ground, dirt raining down on top of him.

The ringing in his ears doubled and his head ached. He tried to push himself up, but dizziness overcame him and he collapsed back into the dirt.

Hands were on his back and rolling him over. The first thing he saw was a French uniform and he flailed, desperately trying to think of a miracle to get him away from the enemy, but hands pushed him down again and he looked up to see a familiar face staring down at him.

"Cr-ow-ley," he mouthed.

He hadn't seen the demon since Russia, when Crowley had nearly discorporated from the cold. Now it looked like his friend was here to return the favor.

The demon's mouth was opening and closing as if he were saying something, tugging on Aziraphale's uniform coat, but the angel couldn't hear anything past the ringing in his ears and it was very distracting.

It took everything in him to be able to figure out what Crowley was saying by reading his lips. "Come on," Crowley mouthed. "We're getting out of here."

He heaved Aziraphale up, but the angel swayed and clutched his head, the incessant ringing only seeming to get worse.

"Wait…" he tried, and tugged on Crowley's uniform. "Ene-my…"

Crowley rolled his eyes, but miracled himself into a British uniform. "Better? Let's get out of here."

More cannons were firing around them and Crowley hurried Aziraphale along as fast as the angel could stumble, which wasn't fast since it was a monumental effort just to put one foot in front of the other. That coupled with the chaos going on around them made it nearly impossible for Aziraphale to focus on anything.

He didn't even realize where they were at first, until he recognized his desk and realized Crowley must have brought him to his tent.

The demon settled him down on his cot and crouched in front of him, taking his face between his hands.

"Angel, can you hear me?" he asked, still silent to Aziraphale's ears.

The angel shook his head, swaying, as he motioned to his ears. "R-ringing."

Crowley pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded. He simply lowered Aziraphale down on the cot and sat on the edge. "Just stay down. It should wear off."

But Aziraphale shook his head, which only set him off on another bout of dizziness, and his stomach clenched as it felt like he was about to fall off the cot.

He squeezed his eyes shut and terror overcame him suddenly. A sensation that an angel never wanted to experience. The feeling of freefall; not the joy of flight, but the terror of falling…

_"Angel!"_

The voice was muffled, but he could just hear it above the ringing in his ears. Someone had grabbed his shoulders and the sensation of falling halted. Aziraphale instantly clung to the person responsible and dragged his eyes open.

Crowley was staring at him with worried golden eyes.

"Angel, are you okay?"

"I'm…falling," Aziraphale whispered.

Something crossed Crowley's face, an unreadable expression, and he swallowed hard, but turned to the side, keeping one hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, grounding him. Aziraphale took a deep breath, trying to focus. The ringing wasn't quite so bad now, and he could vaguely hear Crowley.

"You'll be okay. It will wear off." He produced a cloth and started to clean the dirt and blood off of Aziraphale from the battlefield. It was warm and comforting and he leaned back against the cot, closing his eyes as he let the demon care for him. He was really helpless to do anything else at that moment.

By the time Crowley finished with his ministrations, he was starting to feel a little less dizzy and though there was still some ringing in his ears, it was mostly gone. "Thank you," he finally said to the demon, cracking his eyes open.

Crowley shrugged, looking a little self-conscious. "'S'nothing. After all, just repaying the favor."

Aziraphale smiled gently back. He knew Crowley didn't like to be thanked, but he was grateful.

He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath. "Is that what it feels like?" he asked after a while.

"What?" Crowley replied.

"Falling."

The demon looked at him sharply and Aziraphale instantly felt bad for bringing it up, blaming his muddled head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"No, it's fine," Crowley replied.

"It's terrifying," Aziraphale whispered. "Just the sensation of it. I couldn't imagine actually…" He pressed his lips together, unable to continue and sure Crowley didn't want to hear it.

"You're not falling anymore, angel," Crowley said after a moment. "Just relax. I'll stay here and make sure it doesn't happen again."

"But the battle…"

"Will go perfectly well without us there," Crowley said simply. "They always do, after all."

Aziraphale sighed but the demon was right. There was no way Wellington wasn't going to win this one.

So he closed his eyes and felt a hand rest on his shoulder to keep him grounded while he waited out the effects of the blast, the ringing getting less and less potent, until he was woken by the sounds of victory.


	8. Day Twenty-Seven: Natural Disaster Bingo 2020

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 27 (extreme weather, power outage) The Bookshop and the Bentley work together to get their angel and demon through a storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For 29Pieces who let me borrow her sentient Bookshop and Bentley headcanon for this (because I adore them and Angel and Dearboy ^_^) Check out her story "Soul of Velum, Heart of Chrome" https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594987

It was one of the worst storms London had ever seen, at least in recorded history. An enormous blizzard that was raging through the city.

The Bookshop shuddered.

It had not been very long since its power had gone out—the whole street had gone out. Of course, it had instantly lit some oil lamps Aziraphale always kept around from the old days, giving the shop a little light.

It would do no good if there wasn't something to light the angel and demon back home.

The Bookshop was a bit of a worrywart, at least that's what Bentley told it snidely. It must have gotten the trait from Aziraphale. But really, it had every right to worry right now. Aziraphale and Dearboy were off on a dangerous mission in _this!_ It had no way of knowing when they would be back or if they would be all right.

At least Bentley was with them—that was the only consolation the Bookshop had. After all, they were incredibly accident prone and needed someone, or rather some _thing_ to look after them.

More wind swept around and rattled the Bookshop, roofing flying off. The Bookshop winced internally. It had already taken some damage, and it only seemed like the storm was only getting worse.

Oh, it wished that the angel and demon were back safe and sound.

XXX

The Bentley also wished it were anywhere but where it was currently.

The roads of London were so slippery, and the snow was blanketing everything, allowing the car's headlights to only pierce, generously, a foot in front of it.

Crowley's hands were only barely clutching the wheel too, not that the Bentley needed the demon to drive, but it was very concerned. Both the demon and the angel had been injured, and now it was telling.

Luckily they were almost back in Soho, at least the Bentley _thought_ they were. Honestly, it wasn't entirely sure anymore.

It was so cold. The Bentley could feel its engine struggling, which it _never_ did, but with Crowley nearly unconscious, well, perhaps there was a dearth of all-important imagination.

But if even the Bentley was cold with its combustion engine, the angel and demon were practically frozen.

Angel was already unconscious, blood seeping from a wound in his side, and Crowley, well…the Bentley could feel his blood seeping into the seats as well, something it hated above all else. Even when Crowley miracled it away after tough missions, it always felt like it was still there, a horrid reminder.

They needed help, and the Bentley was determined to make sure it got back to the safety of the Bookshop.

Crowley's hand finally slipped completely off the wheel as he slumped against Angel.

Well, that was it then, looked like Bentley was on its own.

XXX

The Bookshop was tense, worried as more and more bits of it were torn off in the wind. How could anyone, even an angel and a demon, be out in this without getting blown away like the girl and her dog in that one story Aziraphale had read.

And then finally, there was the weak sound of a horn.

The Bookshop settled in relief, seeing Bentley out front, but its engine was barely running, the ice attacking its working parts. If it sat there for too much longer, it wouldn't be able to move again until the storm stopped!

And why were Aziraphale and Dearboy not getting out?

The Bentley flashed its headlights weakly and the Bookshop made a decision. It opened the door and had to push hard against the drifts of snow. Its frames shuddered as the cold air blew inside, but the Bentley got the hint, turning laboriously in the snow and driving inside while the Bookshop performed its own little miracle, widening the door so it could enter (not the first time it'd had to do that!)

It slammed the door shut on the howling wind as the Bentley limped inside and gave a grateful rumble, shaking slightly to detach some snow, almost like a dog. The Bookshop normally didn't like anything wet inside of it, around the books, but it would forgive its friend this time.

The Bentley's door opened and the Bookshop dropped several books on the floor in shock as what it saw.

Aziraphale and Dearboy were slumped inside, completely unconscious. The Bentley rumbled in shared concern, and tried to turn on its own heater.

It wasn't working very well, as the Bentley must be nearly frozen, so the Bookshop made the fire in the grate ignite, causing the heat to waft out into the shop.

The Bentley rumbled in relief and proceeded to drip even more on the floor, before it was able to turn its own heater on and hopefully warm up the angel and demon inside.

The Bookshop and Bentley waited anxiously as the storm raged. The Bookshop battened down the hatches as they said at sea, and tried to make itself as imperviable as possible to protect everything inside. The storm only tore more of its roofing and siding off, but it knew it was nothing Aziraphale couldn't put back to rights later. It was only glad it had been built so strong, so that it could withstand the storm and keep those it cared about safe.

Finally, _finally_ the storm ended, and the warmth of the Bookshop seemed to eventually bring Aziraphale and Dearboy back around as well.

The demon woke first, groaning as he pushed himself upright.

"Angel?" he groaned.

The Bentley woke from a nap and carefully shifted to get closer to the couch.

"How the Heaven…" Dearboy muttered as he looked around.

"Crow-ley?"

The Bookshop felt instant relief at hearing Aziraphale's voice and helped the Bentley move, dragging the rug it was sitting on closer to the couch as well.

"Easy, angel, you're hurt," Dearboy said quietly.

"Where're we?" Aziraphale mumbled.

"Somehow, back at the bookshop," the demon said, frowning as he looked around. "Inside the bookshop. With the car. Funny how that happens sometimes."

"Mm," Aziraphale mumbled.

The Bentley opened the other car door and the demon looked up with a frown, before he seemed to shrug and got out, limping, and tugged Aziraphale out of the car as well.

A pile of blankets appeared on the couch and Dearboy lowered Aziraphale down, wrapping him in blankets before he sank down himself, shivering, and pulling another several blankets around himself, seeming to drift off again.

Before Aziraphale drifted off, though, he looked up and gave a small smile. "Thank you, old thing. Er…or, you know."

The Bookshop preened, but was mostly just glad that everyone was safe. Aziraphale and Crowley still didn't entirely believe just how sentient their bookshop and automobile were, but they were beginning to at least acknowledge that something more than normal was going on.

The storm was over before much longer, and by the time the angel and demon awoke, the power was back on.

The Bentley had gone back outside so as not to raise undue suspicion, and Aziraphale and Dearboy tended each other's injuries, which had mostly healed during their rest.

The Bookshop watched over all of this, a little battered, but feeling warm inside. It was always a good feeling to make it out on the other side of a storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the final Good Omens story for the month. Thanks to everyone who read and followed!
> 
> Come visit me on Tumblr where I post fandom stuff, headcanons, asks and accept requests/commissions :) https://lady-wallace.tumblr.com


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